


Bring Me Home At Last

by FeronLights



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, M/M, Magic is still a thing I guess, Modern day Anastasia AU with FF characters? What could go wrong?, Multi, Rating may change in future but for now it's mostly language / violence, no beta we die like writers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-08-17 10:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeronLights/pseuds/FeronLights
Summary: Ten years ago, Ardyn Izunia used the power of daemons to destroy Insomnia, taking members of the royal family, nobles, and his own life with it. However, King Regis managed to survive, and believes his son Noctis still lives. With failing health and a fading crystal, he offers a reward for anyone to bring his son home to Altissia.Prompto Argentum, conman extraordinaire, wants to pull off the biggest con in history to get the reward. No more forgeries, no more secrets, no more running from his past. He just needs to find the perfect look-alike.Gladiolus Amicitia, former noble, wants to move on from the ruins of his old home and give his family the proper burial they deserve. Perhaps by helping Prompto, and taking a portion of the reward, he can finally settle down and be at peace.Noct Gar, an orphan in Insomnia, wants to find his family. He knows that they’re out there in the world somewhere, if the ring he carries is anything to go by. He just needs to find the way home, and it seems Prompto and Gladio really want to help him…[AKA the ‘Anastasia’ AU that nobody asked for and wouldn’t leave my head for months.]





	1. Prologue - The Gala

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Welcome to my first foray back into the world of fanfiction! Most of my stuff has been rotting away in notebooks, but let me tell you, this beast of a story suddenly popped into my head when I was mis-remembering the lyrics to the songs...while eternally trapped in FFXV hell...and suddenly a wild PLOT BUNNY shows up. It's super effective!  
> As the tags say, this isn't beta read so if there's any glaring mistakes or anything that sticks out let me know and I will do my best to fix it!  
> Anyways, onto the story!  
> [Special shoutout to my bestie Jess for the encouragement and motivating me to post this.]

Streetlights began to flicker one by one along the city streets as the sun swiftly descends behind the tall buildings. A light snowfall sprinkles from the heavens – the first in nearly decades. Though the smaller streets are devoid of residents, the spirit of the city seeps out with the many illuminated windows and storefronts. 

A sleek car passes along the downtown streets, tinted windows reflecting the neon store signs. Inside the car sits King Regis Lucis Caelum, recently returned from a diplomatic summit in Altissia. Even now as he passes the downtown shops, his mind focuses on the last few stressful days of talks with other nobles, diplomats, and leaders.

He heard the whispers among those in the crowded council chambers. Rumors of Niflheim building an army to attack Insomnia, along with strange creatures lurking in the darkness. The king had scoffed at the idea. After all, a combination of both Niflheim and Insomnia troops managed to push the darkness at bay many years ago. Years of trade agreements and diplomatic gestures of peace, shared cultures, and the occasional political marriage have kept tensions relatively non-existent. Since then it had been nothing but peace.

Or so it would seem.

They weren’t at the summit in Altissia. Claimed the bad weather in Gralea would cause a delay in arrival. And yet, if the rumors were to be true, if Niflheim was indeed building an army, what then? What of the rumored creatures?

Regis shakes his head. He should be relaxed, now that he’s home. 

He glances down to his lap. In his hands is a small box – a present for his son as dictated by traditions of past kings and queens. He opens the box to take a look at the trinket inside and the expertly crafted style, tucking a small chain beneath the ring slot. Hopefully, his son would appreciate the meaning behind the gift. He sighs, content and grateful for the distraction from his overworked mind. 

“Everything alright, sire?” The driver takes a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

Regis nods, placing the box back into his jacket pocket. “Perfectly fine. I’m glad to be home.” _At least, for a little while._

The car continues its cruising speed through the empty streets.

*~*~*

Further in the city, the Citadel is alight with lanterns and lights. A gala is being held on the anniversary of the dawn returning to Eos nearly a century ago. Fireworks pop in the distance as guests venture up the stairs into the gala. Crownsguard and Kingsglaive alike line the stairs, checking each guest and giving respectful bows to the nobles when necessary. There’s a line of cars pulling up to the rounded driveway, including the king’s car. 

Regis steps out when the car stops, adjusting the sword at his side and the cloak on his back. He is greeted by a familiar face. “There you are!” The voice is warm, friendly. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it back in time.”

“Clarus Amicitia!” The two exchange a warm hug before breaking apart with wide smiles. “My friend, it is good to see you.”

“You as well, old friend,” Clarus replies. “How was Altissia?”

“The usual bickering crowd,” Regis laughs, “Same old council, same old worries. Why we needed an entire week for a meeting that lasted two hours, I will never know.” He glances around as they make their way up the stairs, acknowledging the bows as they pass. “Gladiolus not joining us this evening?”

Clarus’ smile falters slightly. “I was hoping he would show up by now, but the night is still young.” There’s something behind Clarus’ eyes that Regis knows he’s not sharing, but he does not want to pry. “I’m sure he will arrive soon.”

“Have you asked him?” Regis tilts his head in question. “About his future?”

“Multiple times,” he sighs softly, “but he insists on avoiding the issue at present. I’ve tried to change his mind, but he insists on being a normal teen ‘ _for once_ ’ instead of training with the guard. He is stubborn in his ways.”  

“Sounds like someone I know well,” Regis grins and Clarus gives him a low chuckle. The tension is broken, for now at least. 

They move into the edge of the main ballroom, occasionally stopping to greet nobles along the way. The ballroom itself is decorated modestly with light drapery along the walls. The curtains have been pulled tightly back, allowing the large ornate windows to display the lit garden and the final set of fireworks. At the far-right wall, a quartet plays a soft melody, filling the room with ambient tones. In the center of the room, various guests and nobles mingle and converse. Some move towards the center of the room to dance.

Finally, they reach the front of the room where the throne sits with a clear view of the entire ballroom. As they approach, they notice a small child has suddenly run up to the throne and is trying to hide behind it. She occasionally peeks out, only to duck back just as quickly. As she peeks out once more, she stops and freezes in place, eyes meeting with the two older men in surprise. 

Clarus picks up the small child gently, a look of shock crossing his features. “Iris! Where is Jared? Did you run off again?”

“No daddy!” Iris replies with a giggle. “We were playing hide and seek!”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Me and the blond boy!” She points towards a door near the back where a tuft of blond hair has ducked out of sight. Clarus puts her down as if to follow the blond, but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

Regis shakes his head. “One of the kitchen boys, I assume.” He gives him a nod, easing into the throne. “Go on, Clarus. Have a bit of fun. We’ll talk later.”

“Majesty,” Clarus bows low and gives one last smile. He rises and takes his daughter by the hand as they move to the dance floor. Regis watches him go, his eyes scanning over the guests in the hall. The music changes into more of an upbeat medley as more guests begin to dance.

A flash of raven hair darts between the dancing guests, nearly knocking Clarus over in his haste, midnight blue eyes shining brightly with the twinkling chandeliers. “Father!” 

“My son,” Regis opens his arms wide to catch the small raven-haired youth in a warm embrace. “You’ve grown since I last saw you!”

“Welcome home! I missed you.” Noctis nuzzles his face into his father’s jacket, small hands clenched tightly against his sleeves. “Please tell me you’re staying longer than a week.”

It’s muffled against the fabric and noise of the hall, but Regis catches the words and tone all the same. “I cannot promise much. My job does keep me away often, as you’ll soon learn when you become king.” 

“But we had a fishing trip planned!” The young prince whines, eyes pleading behind raven locks. “You _promised_!”

“Indeed,” he replies with a soft smile, “and we will still go fishing at some point. I did promise after all.”  

As Noctis drops from his arms with less of a pout, Regis moves an arm behind his cloak to pull out a small box. “Do you know what this is, Noctis?” The boy shakes his head, eyes aglow with curiosity. “In this box is a ring, very much like mine. It is tradition in the Caelum family to create a trinket that signifies the next in line for the throne.” He pauses to open the box and turn it towards his son’s wide eyes. “My father did it, as did his father, and so on. Though mine,” he gestures with a nod to the intricate black ring on his hand, “has had some _minor_ alterations, the tradition remains the same. This one is specifically for you, Noctis.”

The ring is jet black, made of smooth metal. A thin strip of glowing blue crystal divides the ring down the center. Engraved inside the ring in fancy gold lettering are roman numerals _CXIV_ and a phrase very familiar to the young prince: _Walk Tall_. The roman numerals seem to glow with the crystal in a faint pulse of light.

“Dad, this is amazing!” The prince grins. He eagerly takes the ring out of the box and tries it on his small hands. It’s a bit big, and the young prince frowns.

Regis chuckles with a smile, taking the box back to pull out a chain from beneath the ring stand. He slips the ring from Noctis’ fingers to place it on the chain. “I am glad you like it. Now, if you ever feel lonely when I’m away, all you need to do is look at this ring and know that I’m never far from you. Know that with this ring, the line of Lucis will always go with you.” He slips the chain around the boy’s neck. A perfect fit.

“Thank you, dad.” Noctis clutches the ring against his chest tightly. “I’ll take care of it. I pro-“

There’s a loud crash as the large windows begin to shatter one by one. The lights in the ballroom flicker out, plunging the hall into darkness. Outside, the snow has stopped falling, but the murky grey of the sky has turned into pitch black.

The hall fills with shocked voices and whispers. Near the back of the ballroom the guests begin to part to the sides of the hall – someone is moving through the crowd. Whispers and murmurs fill the air. Eventually the wave of movement reaches the front of the hall. In the center of the parting sea of the crowd, a man saunters forward in a long black flowing coat. He has a flower-print mantle on top, and a red scarf draping from his shoulders. The most striking features are the tufts of red-violet hair and a seemingly out of place fedora resting on top of his head.

The fedora tips upwards with a dramatic flourish as amber eyes narrow on Regis’ violet ones. Gasps echo throughout the room.

“Ardyn Izunia…” Regis narrows his eyes. “I banished you. You shouldn’t be here.” He holds a hand up as several members of the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard sweep in from the sides, easing the guests behind them. Once in position, the hand falls to his side where his sword lies ready.

Clarus has moved ever so slightly closer to Regis, the callings of his duty as king’s shield slipping easily into his movements. His daughter is tucked behind him, hidden from view. 

Noctis stands beside his father, narrowed eyes leveled at the creepy man. He remembers seeing him around the citadel when he was much younger. Back then, the young prince used to hide behind his father’s cloak whenever the man made an appearance. But Noctis is ten now, and _ten year olds don’t hide behind their father’s cloaks, no sir_.

“Why, my dear Regis! Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Ardyn dips into a half bow, one arm draped over his chest as he grins. “After all, it has been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Regis replies, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to claim what is rightfully mine. The crystal and the ring.” Whispers fill the hall. Ardyn pays them no mind and continues as he takes a few steps forward toward the throne. “You know as well as I do that the throne belongs to me.”

“You were deemed unworthy,” Regis snaps. “The Astrals and the crystal rejected you.”

“They were _wrong_!” Ardyn’s voice rises in anger. “They are blind to _true_  power, and blind to the ever growing darkness.” He stops moving, adjusting the fedora. When he meets Regis’ eyes again, there’s a flicker of yellow in the irises.

“Heed my words, Regis,” His smile stretches into an unnerving crooked grin as he raises a lone finger, pointing at the king. “You and your family, your entire court, will fall. The line of Lucis dies tonight.” 

A rumble from deep beneath the ballroom shakes the hall as dark shapes begin to bubble up from the floor. Eventually the shapes begin to morph into creatures of various shapes and sizes. Imps and Goblins chitter excitedly as Flans - bubbling and wobbling into gelatinous blobs - sweep out from the dark pool in the center of the room. More creatures begin to rise, larger and darker in shape. 

Regis reaches behind him to grasp Noctis closer to his side. _Daemons...No!_

The hall erupts into chaos and screams as the dameons begin to attack. Ardyn turns and walks away with a wave, disappearing into the crowd. 


	2. The Fall of Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia falls to an onslaught of daemons, barely saved by an outside influence. The royal family is gone, murdered by Ardyn...Or are they?  
> 10 years is a long time to reflect on one night of terror and separation from those closest to us, and one man's desperate search for his son begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so I didn’t realize people really liked the first part enough to leave kudos and bookmarks?!?! Major morale booster there, thank you! <3 Also I’m an absolute dumbass and don’t really know how Ao3 works...so I didn’t see the comments until months later - forgive me!  
> Apologies for the delay – between work, my birthday, and a bunch of real life shit™ these past few months, I had to step away from the story for a bit. Now that things seem to be calming down for the most part, here is chapter 2 – technically it’s still part of the prologue but I felt keeping both together would make the chapter seem long and boring. Idk, maybe I’m wrong? Maybe it’s that good old self-doubt creeping up again.  
> Also, I know the layout of things within the Citadel probably don’t make too much sense (did the place even have a ballroom? It’s been a while since I played FFXV because I don’t want to be an emotional wreck every time Somnus starts playing, but that’s what an AU / Non-Canon is for right?  
> Friendly reminder this isn't beta read so if there are any errors or mistakes I take full responsibility.

Kingsglaive and Crownsguard alike charge at the daemons, pushing them back. Others scatter towards any exit available to direct the guests among the chaos. The hall is a symphony of noises from screams to shouts. Guests rush towards any and all available exits, though many are cut down at the onslaught of daemons rising from the ballroom floor. 

Noctis is frozen in place beside his father, eyes wide at the chaos and bloodshed that fills the hall before him. Fear slides down his spine in an icy chill. Movement as his side snaps him out of his trance as he watches his father slice a flan in half. Anger fills his father's once peaceful green eyes.  

Noctis darts from the safety of his father's side to hide behind the throne, looking for a way out of the hall. His father calls out to him, turning after cutting down a goblin that came too close. He moves to join his son, wrapping an arm around him protectively, adjusting his stance. He begins to move them both backwards away from the throne. Daemons surround the pair preventing their escape. Suddenly there’s a flash of crystal and a cry as the daemons are cast aside by a large shield. 

"Regis, go!" Clarus steps in front of them, slicing through a trio of goblins that tried to skirt their way sideways towards the pair. "Get yourself and Prince Noctis out of here!" 

The king nods, picking up his son with one hand. Noctis clings to his shoulders, pressing his face against his chest, trying to control his shaking. They both flee from the hall, Regis' sword cutting through anything in their way. 

Once Clarus sees his king safely through the back doors, he nods to himself, turning back to the hall. The Glaives and remaining Crownsguard are winning, but the onslaught of daemons rising from the pool continues to grow wider in size. The rhythmic pop of gunfire causes heads to turn as metal troops begin to storm the hall.   _Niflheim? Now?_

"Fall back!” Clarus orders, retreating after his king.  “Fall back to the docks!" 

*~*~* 

Regis and Noctis flee down the maze of hallways within the Citadel, trying to find an escape route. They had just narrowly avoided a dozen Niflheim troops, who were cutting down daemon and Lucians in their way. The main exits were either blocked by daemons or filled with people trying to flee. Some of the hallways have brought the pair back to the start, others have forced them to turn back to avoid being caught by daemons or the Niflheim army. By the time they’ve circled back again, Regis is panting for breath, and Noctis hasn’t stopped shaking. Briefly, he sets his son down to catch their breath. 

“Regis!” Regis turns, eyes meeting Clarus’ frantic ones. His sword is covered in blood, and there’s a bit of a stagger to his step, but the fire in his blue eyes burns bright. He’s fought hard to make it this far. “Are you and Prince Noctis unharmed?” 

“Yes,” Regis breathes slowly. “Are you alright? What about Iris?” 

“She is safe with Jared and Lord Scientia,” the shield replies, glancing at their surroundings for any sign of danger. “They are on their way to the docks. Your vessel is waiting there as well.” 

“You’re hurt,” Noctis says softly, hand pointing at the red stain on the left side of the shield. Regis moves to his side to offer his hand, but Clarus pushes his hand down gently. 

"I'm fine, Reggie." He shakes his head. "We need to keep moving." 

“Where do you suggest?” 

"If we go by the residence halls there should be one study that has a secret passage out into the main courtyard. It hasn't been used in.." Noctis tunes out the conversation as both men discuss their options for escape. The young prince steps aside, glancing down the dark hallway Clarus came from. Movement catches his eye, and he tilts his head, trying to identify the shape as it twists between the dark spots.  

_There!_ He sees the shape more clearly  -  a slightly humanoid figure stepping between the pools of shadow. Too many precious seconds wasted trying to identify the shape, Noctis realizes too late that the figure is closer. He can hear the quiet whisper of steel as it's removed from a sheath. 

The words to warn the others die on his throat as a sword pierces through the shield’s stomach.  

Noctis' mouth is open in a silent scream. Hands wrap around his torso and pull him backwards into another body. He can hear his father's cries but the sounds are muffled as he stares in horror. Liquid red spreads out and stains the once pristine robes of the King's shield, dripping onto the floor. 

The sword is twisted and yanked back, causing Clarus to stumble forward. One of his hands presses against his torso to try and stop the flow, the other grips onto his sword for balance. For a moment, he stands in place, attempting to take a breath. Then he roars and raises his sword, determined to cut down anything standing in his king’s way as blood splatters around him. His swing sends the daemon flying back down the hall into one of the pillars.  

Regis raises an arm to help, but Clarus gives him a look that screams _run_. He hesitates, but his shield shakes his head.  

“Go,” he coughs softly, eyes shimmering. Blood leaks out of one corner of his lips. “It was an honor to serve you, Reggie.” 

Regis nods sadly. “Walk tall, Clarus.”  

“Until the end.” Clarus turns his back on his king, battle stance ready.  

Regis sends a silent prayer to whatever Astral is listening. He clutches onto Noctis as they run down the hall, pressing his son’s head against his chest, trying to drown out the sounds. There’s the squelch of human flesh and chatter of daemons until the hall falls into an eerie silence. He tightens his grip on his son and moves further down the hall, pushing back tears.  

Clarus Amicitia is dead. They cannot turn back.  

*~*~* 

Regis stops in a forked hallway, catching his breath, trying to decide between darting left or right. Left would take them towards their rooms and his study, with a place to hide out temporarily. Right would lead them towards the elevators to the entrance plaza. 

Before he can decide, Noctis drops from his arms and moves past him, darting to the left towards their rooms. “Noctis, wait!” He stops his son before he enters the corridor, pulling Noctis behind him. He can hear the rapid steps of troops and faint gunfire. He turns to run back down the hall, but the gunfire noise increases in volume, and he can see shadows moving along the wall. They are trapped. 

"In here! Quick!" 

Regis turns toward the voice. He recognizes the tuft of blond hair from earlier in the evening and pushes his son towards the boy. Once both are inside the room, the blond shuts the door behind them and twists the lock. Footsteps dash down the hallway, moving past the room. 

The king releases a slow, shaky breath. They’re safe...for now. His eyes move towards the blond boy. He is around Noctis' age, from what Regis can tell, and slightly round in shape, possibly from spending all his time in the kitchens. His eyes are framed by thick black glasses, and his hands fidget with the hem of his shirt. He’s a nervous bundle of energy. 

"Over here," the blond child says softly, stumbling a bit as he moves towards the far wall. With a firm push, the wall begins to slide open, revealing a secret passage. "Through here is a way out. There was a girl that went through here already with an older man." 

All three jump at the sound of fists pounding on the door and muffled voices. "Hurry, _please_! I...I’ll follow after I make sure the others get out." 

Regis can only nod as he moves his son towards the opening. He wants to stop and thank the boy, but the boy is pushing them further inside. As soon as both men are inside the passage, the blond boy pushes the secret wall back into place. Both Father and son watch as the wall reduces the light from the room until they are engulfed in darkness. 

"He'll be okay, right dad?" Noctis' quiet voice breaks the silence. 

Regis doesn't answer, guiding him gently down the passage.  

*~*~* 

The door bursts open, causing the blond to yelp in surprise. He's quickly surrounded by Niflheim solders, all with guns pointed at him. The boy adjusts his glasses nervously, glancing between the soldiers. One of them speaks to him in a language he can't understand. He doesn't respond. 

As the solder in front of him steps to the side, the boy makes a run for it, knocking a few soldiers out of the way with his shoves. He just reaches the door when there’s a loud _thwack_ against the back of his head, and he falls into a dark abyss. 

*~*~* 

At the end of the dark corridor is a rusted iron gate with stairs leading up out of the hall. Regis pushes the gate, wincing as the creak of old hinges echoes across the open space. As both father and son step outside, they recognize the lower area of the Citadel entrance, with the large rounded driveway looming above them.  

“Come, Noctis.” Regis gives his son a soft smile. “We’ve made it this far. We can get to the docks from here.” 

“Well, you’re certainly full of surprises.” 

Both father and son whip their heads at the voice. Ardyn saunters towards them, dark shapes rolling in waves behind his back. He stops some feet away from them, a dark pool forming behind where he stands. The pool expands and deepens and fills with flan shapes, just waiting for the next human to fall in. 

“I suspected you’d have perished in the ballroom with the rest of the weak, but it seems I may have misjudged how stubborn the Caelum family can be.” He shakes his hand and waves dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll finish you both off soon enough.” 

Regis pushes his son back behind him and raises his sword. Some dark shapes behind Ardyn rise in size, tendrils curling around him.  

A quick glance shows a few areas where his son could hide, quite possibly escape if he falls here and now. _I will not allow it_ , he tells himself. _I will not let Noctis see me fall, not like he saw Clarus_. He glances at his son, determined eyes shining. "Noctis, find a place to hide and stay there. Do not come out until I get you. Understood?" 

"But Dad-" Noctis protests. 

" _Noctis_. Do you understand?" 

The prince nods, moving to hide in the doorway of the passage. From this spot, he has a clear vantage point, but is also hidden away enough to avoid interrupting the fight. 

Both Ardyn and Regis stare each other down, neither making the first move. The dark shapes behind Ardyn swirl in front of the man, hesitating for a moment, before charging at Regis head on. Regis cuts them down, and immediately has to block as Ardyn's sword goes in for a slice. 

Both men parry and attack with ease as Noctis watches in wonder. He's distracted by the fighting, and doesn't notice the flan creeping up behind him until he feels the slap against his legs. He falls forward with a cry, out onto the snow, stumbling out from his hiding place. 

"Noctis!" Regis slips as he turns, moving towards his son. It's all the distraction Ardyn needs as he thrusts his sword into the king's side and knock his weapon out of his hand. The sword goes flying into the snow. 

"DAD!" Noctis cries. He stumbles upright, ignoring the pain in his leg and rushes to his father's side, ignoring his earlier orders. 

Regis takes a knee, blood spilling onto the white snow. He struggles to stay balanced. As he raises his head, tufts of dark hair cross his vision.  

“Noctis,” Regis coughs, trying to push him away. “Go. Run while you still can-” 

“I’m not leaving you, dad!” The young prince tries to push his father to stand, but stops when he winces in pain. He whips his head around to find some way of helping him, but his father’s sword is too far to reach. His eyes meet with the narrowed amber ones of Ardyn’s, and he knows he’s trapped.  

“A pity, not even the king’s own son can save him,” he smirks, waiving his free hand. Swirls of dark shapes surround the pair as he advances further. “And yet, the crystal that _chose_ you is nowhere to aid. Maybe the crystal chose wrong after all?” He stops short of them and points the sword at Regis’ bowed head.  

“Farewell, Regis,” he spits, gives a mock bow. “Send my regards to whichever Astral smiles upon you both.” He raises his sword high. 

Noctis clenches against his father's cloak, pressing his face into the shoulder. _I’m sorry, dad_. 

He hears the sword whistling against the chill wind as it bears down upon them, but it is halted by the sounds of shattered crystal and a bright, white flash. When he glances up, he sees ghostly shapes of various swords, shields, daggers, and polearms – thirteen in all. He falls back onto his knees in the snow, staring in wonder, hands dropping from his father’s cloak, watching as the swords that surround his father fade in and out.  

Regis' green eyes are narrowed as she stands, wound seemingly forgotten. The weapons swirl around his form. He spreads his hands wide and they spin faster around him. 

Ardyn sneers and thrusts his hand outwards, sending more daemons at the pair. 

The weapons dart out one by one, seeming to have a mind of their own, shattered crystal echoing around the area. Each daemon is cut down quickly and efficiently, and the weapon shatters in a burst of light, only to reappear at Regis’ side. Regis continues to push Ardyn and the daemons back, each step causing the weapons to glow brighter. 

Regis stops, raising his hand with the ring. The gem in the ring glows brightly and the weapons spinning around him halt suddenly, twisting up to point directly at his foe. His fingers twitch, and a bright light shoots out from the ring, piercing Ardyn through the heart. Each weapon shoots straight for him, stabbing him in multiple places and sending him stumbling back into the dark pool behind him. His fedora flies off between strikes, rising into the air. He falls with an angry snarl, trying to stand, but the flan hold him steady against the dark pool. 

Ardyn reaches out with his free hand, trying to summon one last strike, yet the flan continue to drag him down. His amber eyes are now surrounded by demonic black ichor dripping from the eyelids. The ichor spreads, covering his body as the flan continue to pile on top of him. Regis sends one last barrage of crystalized weaponry towards the daemon pit. There’s a muffled gasp, and then nothing. 

The fedora, now scuffed and torn in places, slowly floats down as the pool disintegrates into the bloodied snow.  

Regis drops to his knees once more. Noctis rushes forward and grabs his father’s arm, pleading with his eyes. “We need to go, Dad! You gotta get up!” His father nods in reply. Together, they rise slowly and continue onwards towards the docks. 

*~*~* 

The docks are in chaos. 

People are consistently running and shoving others out of the way in their haste to make it onto the few remaining boats out of the city. Noctis, already struggling to keep his father moving beside him, is on the receiving end of a few forceful shoves. He manages to spot a less chaotic corner near one of the ramps to the royal vessel and moves in that direction. His father leans against the railing as more people shove past them further down the dock. “Almost there, dad” Noctis pants. 

An older man moves against the crowd on the ramp, one Noctis recognizes as Jared, the Amicitia’s butler. “Your Majesty! Prince Noctis! I am glad you are safe.” He takes the weight of Regis from Noctis, though the young prince keeps a firm grip on his father’s cloak. “Iris is on the ship, where is Clarus?” 

“He…” Regis sighs, head hanging. “He’s not coming.” Noctis’ fists clench but he remains silent. 

“Come,” Jared begins to move them onto the ship, deciding not to press the subject further. “Lord Scientia says his nephew is waiting for us in Altissia. He is-” 

A shriek from the end of the pier echoing across the crowded docks, freezes everyone in place. There’s a glint of a blade, then multiple blades as a large looming shape slithers into view. A snake-like creature with multiple arms, each holding a sword rises over the crowd, eyes narrowed on innocent targets. 

A Marilith. _No…_ Regis stops, frozen. The daemons should have died with Ardyn. Did he fail? Was Ardyn still alive? _How?_  

Jared is pushing forward, hands on Regis’ cape. “Your Majesty, Highness, move!”  

Hands are gripping and shoving all around the trio as they try to move against the crowd to the boat. Noctis feels his hands slipping from his father’s grip. He scrambles to get better purchase when the crowd to the right of him shifts. His grip is lost and he’s stuck in the surge of the crowd moving away from the pier. 

“Noctis!” Regis turns against the sea of people, calling for his son. Hands are pulling him onto the ship even as he protests. 

“Dad!” Noctis cries, hand reaching through the crowds to find his father. He can’t see over the wave of frantic bodies. Trying to shove his way through with what little strength he has is proving fruitless. 

The Marilith strikes true, cutting down civilians in swift strikes as she moves down the dock to chase after the boat.  

Noctis stares in horror before turning to run with the crowd. Fear fills his veins and pushes him to run faster. The boat is much further than he remembers from the dock. How did it get so far away? How long was he frozen in place? _Faster! Run faster!_ Only a few more feet and he can leap for it. _Come on!_   

Noctis hears something slicing the air behind him, hears the sounds of bodies hitting pavement. He pushes one last burst of speed and leaps. 

The daemon's final swing slices across in a wide arc, catching the young prince. Noctis falls forward, the world spinning around him. There's a loud scream and Noctis realizes quickly it's his own horrified voice, before the sounds begin to fade out as darkness creeps into his vision. His head hits the ground with a loud crack. Blood pools around him; he can feel the warm liquid slowly dripping down his back onto the snow beneath him. His eyes glaze over as he sees a large shape moving away. There’s the sound of gunfire and more shrieks as taller figures begin to fill the area. As the world fades and people run around him in slow motion, one voice breaks the muffled silence.  

“Noc-! _NOCTIS_!” 

_D-Dad..._

He lets the darkness take him into a cold embrace. 

*~*~* 

Regis finds himself once again staring at his hands in a darkened study, the vivid memories of that night years ago still haunting his mind. Hs face has grown older and his hair has taken on a grey tone - a combination of the stress and worry of the unknown. That night replays over and over, and he blames himself for the loss of his son. 

_What if I had let him on first? What if I hadn’t been injured?_

_Why couldn’t I reach him in time?_

_Why didn’t I leap off the godsdamned ship?_  

He looks to his ring, the glow from the crystal flickering in the dark room.  

He can feel the power deep within his veins fading as the days grow shorter, as the nights seem longer, as the whispers of those around town share frightened tales of things that go bump in the night. Things that used to be fairy tales told to children before bed, beasts banished ages ago, before his son was born. 

All gone in the blink of an eye thanks to a crazed man with a vengeance. 

_Ardyn, damn you!_

 “…Sire?” 

He’s interrupted by the creek of the door behind him opening, light filling the darkened room from the doorway. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals a young man with a tablet and some files tucked under one arm, concern passing over his features. The man takes a few steps into the room, pausing to bow briefly before resuming his straight posture. “Is everything alright?” 

Truthfully, things are not well with Regis. With the fading power of the crystal, his rapidly aging body, and the ever-present aches, he’s practically a dead man walking. Nightmares plague him in his sleep, many a countless night where he wakes up shouting his son’s name in the darkness.  

There is something that keeps him going, forces him to wake up every morning and greet the day with a bitter smile. A fleeting feeling of a warmth within his chest, assured whispers – from his own mind or the crystal, he is not sure – that a brighter future is in the cards he’s been dealt this hand. _Hope_.  

He still has hope. But he’s running out of time. 

“…I need to find my son,” he replies softly, a long sigh following his admission. “He’s out there somewhere, I know he’s alive.” He shakes his head slowly, gaze returning to his hands. “I cannot reclaim Insomnia without my son by my side.” 

“We will find him,” is the accented reply. It is a genuine promise, but it falls deaf on ears too used to the familiar words. 

“The magic of the crystal is fading.” Regis sighs, and the sound nearly breaks the bespectacled young man’s heart. “If I do not pass it to him, it will fade forever. And the line of Lucis will truly fall to darkness.” 

He turns then, facing the man. His gaze is hard, eyes narrowed and lips in a firm line. “Find my son, Ignis. Whatever it takes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are written out and ready, but Kingdom Hearts 3 dropped and it’s already wrecking me emotionally and I’m still in the beginning of the game.  
> Come yell at me on Tumblr @FeronLights


	3. A Rumor in Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Have you heard? There’s a rumor in Insomnia! Have you heard what they’re saying on the streets?_
> 
>   
>  10 years have passed since the night of the daemon attack. In the hustle and bustle of a city struggling to remain standing surrounded by the rubble, two people decide to invest in a whispered hope among the citizens. Meanwhile, a lengthy search by a loyal subject yields a new clue and a familiar affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kingdom Hearts 3 absolutely fucking **_wrecked_** me. Here, have this chapter while I go play FFXV again to cope with the feelings – wait...FFXV is sad too - HOW IS THIS COPING?!?!  
> We’re finally progressing with the story! Huge thanks to those that left comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. You all are the real MVPs <3 One thing I can say is the next chapter is fully written, but I need to fix some pacing issues. It was also the first chapter I completely wrote (besides the one scene way further in Paris – you know the one with the whole ‘boy and secret passage’ scene – but we’re a bit far off from that at this point).  
> Friendly reminder this is not beta read so any errors are my own damn fault.

-10 years later-  

Areas of white cover the once bustling streets. Years ago, this sidewalk was a stretch of shops, local farmer's market, and popular cinema, just before the downtown metropolis. Now it is a shell of its former self, reduced to half-built rubble and debris of a nightmare long since passed. 

The last ten years have hit Insomnia ruthlessly. 

Once the Niflheim Empire finished their 'cleanup' of the daemons brought by Ardyn, they claimed control over the city, and surrounding regions outside the wall. Any resistance was met with a swift execution, no exceptions. Those few who survived the attack and remained in the city were stripped of any and all possessions to their names, including titles. Refugees fleeing from the outer cities already occupied by Niflheim and thrill seekers seeking loot from the now abandoned rich society suddenly found themselves stuck in what could only be described as an oppressive hellscape - where one false move meant a death sentence. Some small communities remained, but the tensions between native Lucians and refugees escalated as the nights got colder and longer each year. 

Throughout the occupied years, they've taken a militarized stance on order in the city. ID cards and visas are required for entering any area within the city. The cards are changed monthly in both design and wording, and anyone with an older card is subject to search and imprisonment. Jobs are few and far between, and rations are smaller than a kid’s meal at the old Crow’s Nest. 

Any words or whispered ideas mentioning the former king Regis, or any of the Caelum family, means death. MTs – Magitek soldiers patrolling the city are trained to pick up specific words in otherwise hushed conversations. People are dragged off almost daily, never to be seen again. 

Despite all this, hope still remains. 

*~*~* 

"Insomnia's certainly gloomy today, eh?" 

"Oh, but did you hear? I heard..." 

"Shh! Not so loud! The MTs will hear you.” 

Beside the conversing residents, a man with blond locks tucked in a beanie pauses in his browsing, straining to hear the conversation. Slowly he moves further down the stall, following the voices as they move. 

“Well, I heard the reward is _fifty thousand_ _gil_ for the return! Possibly more if his son is completely healthy!” Person A whispers excitedly. 

“Oh, wouldn’t that be something!” Person B replies, making a purchase at the neighboring stall. 

The conversation eventually drifts off to another subject, and the blond man moves further down the marketplace, pocketing the information he learned for later. Perhaps this last bit of intel would finally be enough to move forward with his plans. 

Prompto Argentum, semi-formally known as the conman Quicksilver stops between a fruit stall and a spice stall, observing the wares of the day. He needs to kill some time before his partner returns to the city, before he can possibly execute his final con. 

No one knows _who_ Quicksilver is, only that he exists. Some believe he is a ‘Robin Hood’ type: stealing from the rich Niffs and giving to those less fortunate. Others refer to him as a daemon from the shadows, breaking the empire apart by destroying Niff facilities and freeing those civilians trapped inside. Still others call him for what he is: a criminal and conman all in one. Most of the stories of his minor jobs have evolved into tall tales – legends passed between whispers in darkened corners of the city. Everyone who says they have seen his face or knows who he is are merely spreading the legend.  

Well, not nearly everyone. 

Sure, there's his comrade and occasional backup for a heist who knows his identity. And there's the pesky advisor who somehow caught his trail after the ‘incident’ a few years back. Plus, there’s that one commodore of Niflheim who keeps bringing Quicksilver up like a conversation over dinner... _Yup, she_ _knows_. 

Okay, three people for sure know he’s Quicksilver. _Could be worse_ , he thinks with a roll of his shoulders. The blond shakes his head and purchases a few pieces of fruit, moving further down the market place.  

At another stall, he notices a new book in a familiar series has arrived on a recent import, and makes a quick purchase. As he places the book in his bag, he hears the familiar clang of metal troops heading towards his direction, along with a rush of shoppers trying to avoid the area. The people that pass him to avoid the troops are frantically whispering. He picks up a few familiar bits about the lost prince, but then one couple mentions the troops and blond hair in the same sentence and he freezes. 

_Shit_. 

Prompto pulls the beanie down further on his head, covering as much of the blond strands as he can as he moves quicker between the stalls.  He knows the MTs aren't after him - not yet anyway, and not _specifically_ today he hopes. Better to be safe than sorry. He ducks down an alleyway and darts towards the front end of the market. Once he feels the coast is clear, he lets out a shaky breath and resumes his path towards the center of the area. 

"Hey kid." 

He feels a firm grip on his shoulders and freezes in place, eyes widening. As he turns, he notices a taller woman with silver hair. The terrified expression morphs into one of slight embarrassment with a large grin spreading across his cheeks in mere milliseconds.  

"Yeesh, Aranea! Give a guy some warning before you sneak up on him! Heh..." He chuckles, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder. "What can I do ya for, _Commodore_?" 

Aranea crosses her arms, eyes narrowed at the blond. "You hear any rumors about a lost prince?" 

"Nothing beyond people trying to gossip," he replies. "Though there was that one old guy by the Crow's Nest claiming _he_ was the prince, but he's 40 years older than necessary." 

"And what about Quicksilver?" 

Prompto stiffens, and Aranea notices. She smirks wickedly. 

"Rumor is that the elusive Quicksilver was seen exiting a supply base for the Empire, loaded with bags of previously confiscated contraband. Next day, the poorest district in Insomnia suddenly has food to share, and the base is completely demolished. Lot of destroyed MT's left to rot away or have their parts sold for scrap." Aranea moves silently beside him, circling, observing her prey as she speaks. "Most of the people in that district were kids, displaced by the war." She stops directly behind him, and leans forward. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" 

"Not a thing," Prompto replies easily, cooling his features into one of indifference. "Though, I'm glad some starving children could get some food in this shitty winter."  

Aranea doesn’t respond, still staring at him. “Listen kid, I don’t know who hit the facility and frankly, I really couldn’t care less. But if your ‘buddy’ is doing this as a means of trying to get out of the city, they’re changing the IDs again.” 

“Astrals, really?” Prompto whines. “They just changed them last week!” 

“Tough break, kid. At least now you and your ‘buddy’ have got time to figure things out.” She moves a few steps closer, hands on hips. “Consider this a fair warning for what’s ahead. I may not be able to help you out.” 

Prompto swallows, nodding his head. “Thanks for the tip.” He plasters a grin on his face and give her a pair of finger guns, moving further down the street. "You're the best, Aranea!" 

"Stay out of trouble, shortcake!" 

*~*~* 

Gladio steps off the boat onto the docks, slinging his duffel bag and wrapped blade onto his shoulder as he moves through the crowd. He gets a few passing glances, probably because of the new addition to his face and the completed ink peeking out from his jacket sleeves, but he pays them no mind. He has a new scar that travels down his left eye - a gift due to a minor distraction on his 3-month long training trip. He's improved in his skill, but the scar is another reminder he has a long way to go before he's perfect shield material. 

Cor may have been ruthless, but Gilgamesh was another story. Whereas Cor was firm, but guiding in his instruction, Gilgamesh took no prisoners and never stopped for guidance. It was a constant dance of block, attack, and block again until one of them fell first. He's lucky to be alive after that final round of training, though the guilt lingering inside of him says otherwise. 

Once the training was complete, Cor finalized the feathers on his tattoo, claiming it a rite of passage. "You're an Amicitia now," he said, rubbing away the blood. "Your father would be proud." 

Would he? His father...gone too soon, just like his sister, Iris. He’s spent many restless nights watching as they both die horrible deaths and blame him for their fall. How could he be an Amicitia when he’s the last of his line, and with no royal blood to shield? 

He thinks back to the urn that holds both their ashes, safe with a trusted friend in Altissia until he can gather the funds to give them a proper funeral.  _Someday_ , he vows. _Someday, I’ll let you_ _both  rest_ _. Just wait a bit longer_.

The guard at the dock gate eyes his ID card and stamps the return entry. Gladio takes it back and mutters his thanks. Once clear of the checkpoint, he navigates his way across the town to an old movie theater. It's one of the few building from before the fall that still serves it's intended purpose. Though the empire tried to turn it into a propaganda wheelhouse, the residents managed to take it back without much fuss. 

_That, and Quicksilver helped too_ , he muses. 

He crosses the street and makes his way to the side entrance, knocking three times before pushing the door open. "Hello?" 

"Ah, Gladio! I was wondering when you'd make it back." From his left, an older man strides towards him. Besides the man, a dog follows and sits with rapt attention. 

"Hey Dave," Gladio smiles. "Just got into the city."  

"I see you've got some new scars." Dave replies with a grin. They exchange further pleasantries and share stories before both men move to take a seat in a couple of the empty theater chairs. 

"Prompto tells me you're renting the theater for the night?" Dave asks while petting the dog beside him. 

"He didn't say much," Gladio shrugs in reply. "Just asked me to reserve it and pay you once I got back. Bet he's cooking something up, though why he needs a whole theater I couldn't say." 

"He's always had a flair for the arts," Dave laughs quietly. "Maybe he's writing a play about the legendary Quicksilver and needs the stage to visualize his idea. Though, how he jumped from photography to theater I cannot say." 

Gladio snorts. "Yeah, well, he owes me a hell of a lot of cup noodles for this regardless." 

Dave passes the keys after a few moments, reminding him to lock up after they’re done with their auditions and to drop off the key at the hotel down the street. Gladio nods his thanks, pocketing the keys and moves on, drifting with the flow of the crowd into the center of the marketplace. He moves past one of the stalls, still looking for his companion, though his thoughts begin to drift. 

He’s so absorbed in his head that a whistle stops him in his tracks and he jumps slightly, whirling around to a familiar face with widened eyes. "Hey Gladio!" 

" _Ifrit’s firey_ _asshole_ , Prompto!' Gladio gives the smaller figure a light shove, grinning as he stumbles. "Don't pop out of the shadows like that!” 

“Aww, did poor Gladiolus have a wittle scare?” He darts out of the way narrowly avoiding another shove. “Okay! Okay! Point proven!” Hands are held up in mock surrender. “Did you get the theater booked?” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Excellent! Oh, hey, is that a new scar? Ooooh – you got the tattoo finished!” Prompto is bouncing along, all hyper energy. “You have to let me photograph it! I got a new lens for my camera from raiding a base – but you didn’t hear that from me. I know just the place with the perfect lighting...” 

Both men weave through the square, making their way towards a building near the back of the stalls. As they get closer, the vendors they pass have more of the ‘high-end’ items for sale, if high-end meant items raided from the residential wings of the abandoned Citadel. One vendor tries to offer pajamas and robes, among the rugs and small tapestries. Another offers baubles and trinkets – items meant to stay on a mantle for years collecting dust. One vendor, bold as ever, stops in front of the two men, eager eyes wide. 

"I got this from the Citadel! There's gold inside the trim! Look!" The vendor holds out a well-tailored suit, fit for a young prince. Upon closer inspection, both men can see the faint gold glow with the seams. 

"Could be worth something if it belonged to the prince," Prompto shrugs, moving past the vendor. Gladio nods his thanks and follows after the blond. Both men step into the building, the sounds of the marketplace reduced to a low hum as the door shuts behind them. 

Once safely inside the building, both men take a flight of stairs onto the third floor and move down the hallway to a room in the back. Prompto pulls out a ring of keys and unlocks the door, stepping inside to let Gladio through first.  

The room they’ve entered is full of boxes and trunks. Clothes of various sizes and styles hang off whatever surface is available. Most of the seating areas are covered with items ranging from books to trinkets to bullets. A hidden stash, in case they have to abandon their current lodgings. 

The blond removes the beanie and tosses it aside on a lone chair. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to fix the spikes he styled earlier to no avail. Sighing, he lets the hair droop and frame his face, turning to his companion who has dropped his own bags by the door and started rummaging through the scattered boxes. 

"You wanna explain to me why I spent the last of our savings on renting a theater for the night instead of using it to stock up on Cup Noodles for the winter?" Gladio has his arms crossed, brows raised. 

"Don't worry Gladdy, I've got a bit of extra gil stored away for food." Prompto shrugs nonchalantly. "The troops are nicely loaded and my fingers get a bit twitchy in the winter months." 

The taller man laughs, going back to rummaging through his bags. "Just don't get caught." 

"Never have, never will." The blond stops shifting items in their little storage space, eyes landing on the pile of folded clothes atop a set of old luggage. He tosses one of the bags to his friend and opens the other, waving away layers of dust. "You've heard the rumors around the city?" 

"Not really," is the reply with a shrug. "I just got back only recently, and I don't pay attention to town gossip unless it involves you." 

"Well, whispered word on the street is that the former king Regis lives, and he's searching for his son." 

"And?" Gladio huffs in annoyance as he shifts the now full duffle bag from one side of the room to the doorway with the rest of his items. He starts picking up a pile of books to sort through. "Everyone died that night Prom, my family included. Even if he _is_ alive, what's the point of following the rumors?" 

"He's offering a reward of fifty-thousand gil for the return of his son." 

Gladio drops the books he was holding. They clatter to the floor with a muffled thump. "Fifty-" 

"Thousand, yes." Prompto finishes for him. "Enough for you to have a proper funeral ceremony even when split down the middle." He tosses some extra clothes and ammunition into a nearby backpack. "Though, you'd probably get more than half since I only need a small amount for myself in the long run, and my stealing skill is legendary-level." 

Gladio doesn't respond right away, causing the blond to give him a sideways glance in concern. The taller man has his shoulders slightly slumped, staring at the fallen book pile at his feet.  

"You'd...do that for me?" The question is asked so softly, it's barely heard over the muffled din of noise from the bustling street below. 

The blond moves to his side, giving the taller man a firm pat on the back. "I made a promise, didn't I? Way back when - and I tend to keep my promises if my track record is anything to go by." 

“Even if the rumors were true...” Gladio takes a breath, gathering his thoughts. “Even _if_ we get as far as to get the reward, how in the hell are we gonna pull this off? The prince is probably somewhere in the middle of Eos and I am not searching an entire godsdamned continent to find him.” 

Prompto holds up his camera. “You doubt my skills? A random person who resembles the prince will do.” He shrugs. “Just find someone in their twenties with blalck hair. Or we dye it – whatever works. Hence the theater rental. By the time they realize it’s _not_ the prince, we’ll both be long gone.” 

“You really thought this through, huh?” 

“Don’t you see Gladio? It’s the perfect con!” The blond is gesturing wildly now, fully animated with camera in hand. “Everyone is talking about the lost prince – It’s the biggest rumor in Insomnia!” He looks sideways out the window at the city before him. “We’re gonna find the perfect look-alike for the prince, teach him how to act and what to say, then take him to Altissia. We get the reward – we’ll be rich Gladdy!” 

“We’ll finally be out of Insomnia for good…” Gladio murmurs, eyes staring at a point in the distance beyond the city.  

“Not to mention the people of Insomnia will be talking non-stop about us. We'll be celebrities. ‘Heroes of Insomnia Find Lost Prince’ or something along those lines.” Prompto sighs wistfully. “Whaddya say big guy? One last con, for old time’s sake?” 

The blond notices a faint glint in his friend’s amber eyes. He needs to do this, not just for himself, but for his friend, his partner in crime of the last ten years. 

The tall man nods after a moment with a soft smile. “One last con, Quicksilver.” 

*~*~* 

Prompto places his hands behind his back, thoughts drifting as both men move down the street. They just finished spreading word for auditions at the theater. The guise is for a play to be produced about the lost prince. Depending on the turnout, they may or may not find their perfect look-alike, and their plan can move forward.  

_The biggest con in **history**... _  His grin goes wide. _And I can finally stop running_. 

"Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum... What do you believe, Prom? Alive or dead?" Gladio inquires, giving his friend a sideways glance. 

"Who knows?" His eyes widen at a pair of MT's walking their way, and turns the older man down a side street. "Not so loud!" 

*~*~* 

Ignis adjusts his glasses and stifles a cough as he navigates his way through the dusty and abandoned Citadel. He's wandered through these same halls in years past, but his search for answers always starts here - at the beginning of it all. The repetition is not without promise - he's found clues and useful information for finding the lost prince, but most of them have lead to dead ends and the occasional scuffle with the empire. Today, however, a gut feeling keeps him moving down the halls into the newly-uncovered residential wing.  

So far, he’s found small disturbances from his previous visits. Little things, such as a curtain out of place or an object moved from one side of the room to the other. It's obvious that someone has been here, though if it was the empire or the prince himself, he cannot say for certain. Not to mention, the various vendors and stalls he’s had to ‘buy’ out of business to retain the artifacts belonging to the royal family. Did the prince sell those items for gil to live for the past ten years? Was it the empire?

His foot strikes against an object and sends it sliding into the center of the room, interrupting his search and the thoughts within his mind. As he approaches the item, he recognizes a familiar logo with red font on a styrofoam cup. 

There was only one person he knew in his life that practically lived on the _offensive_ meal.  

"Gladiolus Amicitia," he mutters aloud, dropping the empty cup onto the floor as he stands. Perhaps he needed to pay his old flame a visit..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cup Noodles are delicious Ignis fight me. Though they could do with less sodium...  
> Also in case anyone is confused, Iris isn’t dead but Gladio doesn’t know that (>___>) [+1 to angst skills]  
> Next chapter we get to find out about our ‘lost’ prince! Stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me lurking on my sideblog tumblr @FeronLights


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